For Want of a Nail
by Darkover
Summary: Six moments in the life of Aragorn when, if just one thing had changed, the outcome would have been very different.


14

Title: "For Want of a Nail"

Rating: K+, for some mentions of violence

Disclaimer: The characters of "The Lord of the Rings" were created by J.R.R. Tolkien, and I am not claiming otherwise. This story is written for love and not for money; no copyright violation is intended.

Summary: Six moments in Aragorn's life when, if just one aspect had been changed, things would have been very different.

~ooo0ooo~

_**For want of a nail, the shoe was lost. **_

_**For want of a shoe, the horse was lost. **_

_**For want of a horse, the rider was lost. **_

_**For want of a rider, the battle was lost. **_

_**-Benjamin Franklin **_

~ooo0ooo~

"Lady Gilraen, you must come with us," Elrohir said.

"No!" The wife of Arathorn clutched her young son to her chest. The child squirmed to be released, but she only held him all the tighter. "He is my son, the son of the Chieftain of the Dunedain."

"That is why it is so important that you allow us to escort you and the child to Imladris, to the house of our father," Elladan told her. "The child no longer has his father to protect him, and should the Enemy learn of his existence—"

"No!" Gilraen repeated. "Aragorn belongs with his people! We shall not go!"

The twins argued with her, but in vain. At last, they departed, bearing the news of Gilraen's decision to their father. When they returned again, it was to find scorched earth where the Dunedain camp had been, and men and women dead. The bodies of the child and his mother had been defaced, their heads set upon poles. It was with something near despair that the sons of Elrond returned to their father, to tell him that the line of Elros had ended.

~ooo0ooo~

Glorfindel raised his cup in a toast. "To Isildur's Heir!"

"To Isildur's Heir!" the other members of Lord Elrond's household echoed.

Estel_—no, Aragorn, my name is Aragorn now—_grinned happily. It was most gratifying to learn, as he had earlier that day, that he was not merely a fatherless orphan of a mortal retainer or friend who had been dear to his adoptive father, but Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Isildur's Heir of the line of Elendil, Elros, and Luthien, Chieftain of the Dunedain. Today was his twentieth birthday. Lord Elrond had explained that tomorrow Aragorn would have to take up his duties as the leader of his people, but for today, he was being feted with an exceptional birthday celebration. It was not every day that a young man learned he was truly a prince.

"I thank you, _Ada, _for your kindness, generosity, and love," he told his foster-father most sincerely. "I only wish Elladan and Elrohir were here to share in the festivities. Then you could have all your children about you at once."

Elrond smiled. "Ah, my son, but I will not have all my children back with me until your brothers return with their sister. They are escorting her back from Lothlorien even as we speak. I trust they will return in time to escort you to the Rangers' camp tomorrow."

"A daughter? You have a daughter, _Ada?_" This was indeed a day of revelations! He wondered why Elrond had never mentioned the existence of a daughter, and then recalled that Elves seldom spoke of anyone who was not present. They apparently believed it was bad luck.

Elrond's normally reserved and ageless face became animated. "Yes, my daughter Arwen. In beauty and goodness she is like to Luthien of old, and as the youngest of our race, the last to be born in Middle-earth, she is called _Undomiel, _Evenstar of her people. She has spent the last twenty years in the land of her mother's kin, and I would see her in my house again, for I have missed her. I trust that she and her brothers will have returned by tomorrow morn, and then Elrohir and Elladan can take you to rejoin the Dunedain."

As his adoptive father continued to speak of the responsibilities he, Aragorn, would face, the young man's thoughts dwelt for a moment on the astonishing fact that Lord Elrond had a daughter, of whose existence Aragorn had previously been unaware. But then, he supposed that from the point of view of Elves, who are immortal or nearly so, twenty years was not such a long time to be apart from someone they loved.

_Still, it would have been nice to know her, at least to meet her. Clearly I won't meet her today, or see her anytime soon. I have lived for twenty years without even knowing of her existence, so I don't suppose it matters. _

The following morning Aragorn and his foster-brothers left early, and he seldom returned. When he did, somehow something always occurred, and he never did meet Arwen Evenstar.

~ooo0ooo~

"Thorongil! There you are!" Steward Ecthelion said in genuine pleasure as he weaved his way through the guests at the Yule feast. "All alone in a corner? And without even a horn of ale?" Ecthelion waved a servant over, took a filled cup and passed it to his favorite Captain. "Drink, lad! Yule comes but once a year, and the winter months are long and dark. Tonight is not a time for brooding—my son does enough of that for the both of us!" Ecthelion emitted a booming laugh, as if he had just made a great joke. The Steward was a big man, broad of shoulders, great of strength, generous of laughter, and he took great pleasure in life. Denethor, his only son and Heir, was like him but little. Thorongil smiled, accepted the horn of ale, and drank from it.

"Where is my son?" the Steward demanded, looking around as if he expected Denethor to appear out of the air.

"He has retired, lord," said the servant who had provided the guests with their wine and ale.

"Already?" Ecthelion said in disbelief. "I saw him eat but little at the feast, which I know to be his wont, but I had not thought he would depart before the dancing could begin!"

"I believe the Lord Denethor was rather weary, my lord, and perhaps welcomes his bed this night," Thorongil said tactfully. He never publicly criticized Denethor, but the latter had little interest in the pastimes enjoyed by other men. Indeed, Denethor had departed in his usual manner by implying that as the Steward's Heir, he had no time or inclination for such mundane and useless pursuits.

Ecthelion snorted to indicate his opinion of such early-to-rise behavior. "When I was his age, I could feast, drink, and dance all night! It is a pity that a man as young as Denethor should have so little interest in life's pleasures, especially at this time of the year. There is scarcely a better occasion than a Yule celebration to meet and make merry with beautiful ladies!" As he spoke, the Steward put his arm around Thorongil's shoulders and guided the latter away from the corner, so that they milled among the cheerful guests. "I tell you, Captain, sometimes I wonder how I am ever going to get that son of mine to marry," Ecthelion confided. "There is a particularly lovely maid here this eve who I hoped to be able to introduce to him." He nodded in the direction of a tall, slender girl Thorongil had not before seen. She had long, lustrous dark hair into which had been braided white flowers from the indoor gardens of Minas Tirith. She was standing with a man who, in view of his age and somewhat protective stance, appeared to be her father. The lady turned in their direction and seeing them, smiled. Thorongil caught his breath.

"Beautiful, is she not?" the Steward was saying. "She is the daughter of my old friend and ally, Prince Adrahil of Dol Amroth."

"Indeed," Thorongil said with feeling. "The lady is almost elven-fair."

Ecthelion chuckled. "Ah, Thorongil, you and your stories of Elves! You speak of Elves as if you have known them. My son never has time for such things. Well, if he is not here to entertain the lady, then that is his misfortune. I shall introduce you to her, and the two of you shall dance, instead!"

Thorongil, who had been feeling rather homesick and unhappy prior to the Steward's approach, could not bring himself to look away from the maid of Dol Amroth. She continued to smile in his direction, although when his own gaze did not falter, she lowered her eyes a bit shyly. Suddenly, the thought of dancing with this lovely lady seemed very appealing, although respect for the Steward's family made Thorongil say, with an effort; "Are you certain, my lord? You spoke of wishing for your son to meet the lady. I should not wish to presume."

"Denethor is not here, and so has lost his chance," Ecthelion said. It sounded oddly like prophecy spoken in jest, or perhaps foresight. The Steward suddenly turned his head to face his favorite captain. Ecthelion's breath smelled of drink, but he seemed completely sober as he said quietly; "You are most dear to me, Thorongil. I would have you know that. Your steadfast service of Gondor, your company, your friendship, all mean a great deal to me. If you are willing, I would have you make Gondor your permanent home. I realize you have not yet even met the lady, but Imrahil's daughter will make a fine wife to some good man, and I can think of few men who are better than you."

Before Thorongil could react to such a declaration, the Steward was gently but firmly pushing him forward while exchanging greetings with the Prince. Then Ecthelion was saying; "This is the Lady Finduilas, the fairest thing ever to come of Dol Amroth, and this is Thorongil, my greatest captain and Gondor's most devoted servant."

Thorongil kissed the lady's hand, and after a moment of small talk, the two older men were left behind as the couple moved out onto the dance floor. Thorongil glanced back at the Steward and the Prince. Both men were watching them with clear expressions of approval. The Prince said something to Ecthelion, and the Steward smiled broadly.

"Thank you lord, for taking pity on a poor wallflower," Finduilas said. "This is the first time all evening that anyone has asked me to dance!"

"Men frequently are intimidated by great beauty," Thorongil said gallantly. Her remark made him wonder if men were intimidated by the presence of her father the Prince, or if Ecthelion had wanted the lady to dance with his son—and made his preference plain.

Finduilas blushed prettily. "Oh, but Captain, I have heard that nothing intimidates you! Even in Dol Amroth, we have heard tales of your courage. And the Steward clearly values you as he does no other." Finduilas' expression turned serious. "It is said that you are like a second son to him."

For the first time, Thorongil allowed himself to think about the implications of that. It was true that Ecthelion treated him more like a son than a servant. Perhaps the day would come soon when Isildur's Heir should make himself known. Perhaps it was a fool's hope to believe that his chances of claiming Gondor's crown would ever be better than they were at present.

_Speaking of a fool's hope…_ Thorongil looked down at the maid in his arms. _The only thing even more foolish than hoping to claim the kingship, is the hope that Lady Arwen Evenstar will ever marry me. Even if she loved me as I do her, Lord Elrond will never permit it. My mother was right; I have set my sights too high, Elvenkind and the race of Men do not wed. _

The Lady Finduilas was most fair, reputedly of a good temper, and Ecthelion had almost thrust them into each others' arms. An alliance with Dol Amroth, along with Thorongil's record of service to Gondor, and the high regard of the Steward, might all combine to bring him the crown so long denied him. He loved Arwen, but what hope, truly, did he have of ever winning her hand? Perhaps she would be better off sailing West with her people, and he should seek a wife elsewhere.

Thorongil smiled down at Finduilas and drew her a little closer as he thought; _Why not? _

~ooo0ooo~

Gimli found some athelas left behind from Sam's pack. Aragorn was able to staunch the bleeding, used the athelas to treat Boromir's shock, and thus the life of the elder son of the Steward was saved.

The dwarf agreed to help watch over the Man and help him return to his home at Minas Tirith, while Aragorn and Legolas went in pursuit of the Orcs who had taken Merry and Pippin. What the son of Gloin had not expected was to be questioned relentlessly by the Steward, a Man who seemed like a much older, grimmer, humorless version of Aragorn. Even less did Gimli expect it when he was confined to quarters in the Steward's residence—most comfortable quarters, to be sure, but he was a prisoner all the same!

By the time Denethor had finished talking with his elder son, he had convinced his Heir that Boromir's memory of events, being admittedly rather hazy, was flawed in believing that Aragorn had saved Boromir's life. Indeed, was not Aragorn as responsible as the Orcs for Boromir's plight, considering how the former had taken so long to come to the latter's aid, even after Boromir had blown the Horn of Gondor?

Denethor concluded that this Aragorn son of Arathorn was in fact a threat to the stability of Gondor, and in a way they were right. They opposed his claim to the kingship. Faramir the younger son of the Steward, and certain members of Gondor's Council did not agree. The result was civil war. With the War of the Ring also going on, it was too much for Gondor. The kingdom collapsed, her people scattered and broken. Gondor was destroyed, her greatness living on only in memory.

~ooo0ooo~

Dain Ironfoot listened to his counselors who told him that it was not their fight, and so the Dwarves of the Iron Mountain did not march to Erebor. King Brand and the Men of Dale fought alone. They were valiant, but it was not enough. Their defenses fell, the Gate of Erebor was broken, and Sauron's hordes swept through, killing and destroying all in their path. Even Rivendell was besieged….

"Daughter, you must go," Lord Elrond commanded.

"Father, no! How can I leave you?"

"Glorfindel and I, and all others who can fight, will hold off the Enemy for so long as we can," Elrond said. "You must take the other women, and all those who are not warriors, and leave at once! Lead them to the Havens, Arwen, and take ship there!" Seeing as how she meant to object again, Elrond embraced his daughter, then held her at arm's length, looking at her fiercely. "Your brothers have already fallen—at least one of my children must go West to tell your mother of our fates!"

Tears streaming down her face, Arwen kissed her father farewell.

Imladris was indeed destroyed, though Elrond, Glorfindel, and other Elf-warriors fell in its defense. Arwen obeyed her father's command, and through her efforts she and a remnant of the folk of Rivendell were able to make it to Cirdan at the Havens and take sail for Valinor. It was a victory of a sort, for by her courage and that of her father's at least some Elves were saved from slavery, torment, and death.

But her love for Aragorn son of Arathorn was never more than a memory. He became King of Gondor, but Arwen was never that land's Queen; and while thanks to their new King's efforts Gondor and its people did survive, they did not prosper much. He did not put forth the effort necessary to reclaim all of the land that had once belonged to the heirs of Elendil. He was a just king, but in his time, rather like that of Denethor who was Steward before him, he became grim, and maintained the land rather than encouraged it to thrive. The remains of the tree in the courtyard at Minas Tirith rotted away, the last of its kind. And when King Elessar died, the kingship died with him, for he never married, and thus left no heir.

~ooo0ooo~

_She is radiant, _the people of Minas Tirith said to each other, speaking of their new Queen. They all cheered when the King and Queen kissed each other. Women wept with joy, men applauded, children danced in the streets in delight.

"No niggard are you, Eomer," King Elessar said, "to give thus to Gondor the fairest thing in your realm!"

Queen Eowyn laughed and blushed at that, her blue eyes like stars as she gazed at her new husband. Eomer, newly-crowned King of Rohan, was pleased by the happiness on his sister's face, and indeed could hardly have been happier himself, for he loved the Lord Aragorn as a brother. He could think of no finer man for his sister to marry, and this marriage would make Rohan and Gondor closer allies than ever before. He lifted his cup in a toast. "To the new King and Queen of Gondor! Long may they live and reign!"

"Long may they live and reign!" the wedding guests echoed, raising their own cups. Only Gandalf noticed how Aragorn's smile for his new wife seemed more dutiful than loving.

_When the Lady Arwen sailed for the West, she left Aragorn bereft, _Gandalf thought, even as he smiled and lifted his cup to the new couple. As he drank, he thought; _But a King must have a Queen, for a King must have an heir. Certainly Aragorn could do far worse than have the Lady Eowyn, brave shieldmaiden and sister of the new King of Rohan, as a wife. Especially as she is devoted to him! I just hope she never realizes that she was Aragorn's second choice. I fear he will never love her as he loved Arwen. _

As Gandalf put down his cup, he noticed the look on the face of the King's Steward. Faramir was looking at the Queen as if there was no one else present, and just for a moment, absolute love and devotion—and a great deal of wistful sadness—showed on his face. Gandalf felt his heart lurch. _Oh, no…._

A moment later, with a faint sigh, the wizard allowed his cup to be refilled and smiled deliberately at the other guests as he raised it to his lips once more. _Alas for Denethor's son! It seems you are doomed always to be second in the affection of those you love. Ah, well, there are some things that even a wizard cannot remedy. _


End file.
